An Instant
by Canadino
Summary: For an instant they could be the remnants of what they left behind...but only for an instant because the island would swallow them up again in a mouthful of blood and tears. JxS if you squint


**Disclaimer: If Lord of the Flies were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.**

Background music: Let it Die – Three Days Grace

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An Instant

The leaves parted naturally as if obeying a godly force as Jack made his way silently through the jungle. The creepers hindered him, but he had snuck his way through these woods so often he could easily slip out of their grasp and through the next army of them. It was another hot, humid day, and he glistened as rays of sunlight fell through the thick canopy. The ground was mossy and not only cushioned his feet, but silenced the steps he made. Sharpened stick in one hand, the other in front of him in defense, he stole his way through the silence, save for a random call of a bird which no longer made him jump as it did in the beginning.

Blood was warm, and it was even warmer in the heat. He could already feel the thick liquid in his hands, the essence of life, in fact, dripping between his thin digits. Pig blood was satisfying to the hunt lust he had unwillingly and unnoticingly embraced, but the hunt was becoming boring, although it did keep him entertained. He wanted to feel something else when he took a life. An animal's life had been shocking at first to snatch, but now it was a part of his daily routine and its monotony had fallen short of expectations.

He wanted to feel something else.

He wasn't a savage. He was just trying to survive. Still, he wouldn't mind drawing blood from that fatty Piggy. He probably had an abundance of it, so a quart or two wouldn't hurt. Despite his thought, Jack knew he wouldn't be able to control himself from stabbing a couple more times. That kid really got on his nerves, his pessimism and cynicism and stupid thinking.

Another one he wouldn't mind bringing down; Ralph. Ralph didn't used to be this irritating. Now they had almost daily spats about such minor things that the blonde would always blow up in massive proportions. He didn't know very much about girls and their cycles, but he was sure Ralph was what you'd call 'PMSing'. And if this was how bad girls got, Jack was sure he wouldn't like having a girlfriend. Not that it mattered; there were no girls on the island and he didn't really…

Jack licked his chapped lips as he pushed some vines out of his range of sight. The mere thought of blood was exhilarating.

Life was a powerful thing to have in your hand. It was a forbidden topic back at home, back at the Catholic school, in the choir. To hold a life in your hand, it was your duty as God's messenger to save it, to promote it. But the knowing walls of Christ did not follow him to the island. And this was life or death. He wanted to experience what he saw on the Discovery Channel.

Hunters.

The hunted.

All that blood!

The power he held over life and the power of taking it away held him prisoner in a dungeon he wasn't sure he wanted to escape. He was playing God; he could control life. People, pigs, all was nothing compared to how he could aimlessly take or give mercy. But mercy was something only the weak gave, because they couldn't handle to kill.

All his life, he was below someone. At school, teachers. At home, parents. In the community, the mayor. And yet the mayor was below the governor, below Parliament, below God! Everything was below God, and just because He knew everything, could control everything…

But where was God now?

Pink appeared to soothe chapped lips again as the leaves bowed in reverence again as well.

He gave them credit; they were older, and somehow, adults had a sense of power because of their age. They knew better, had been through more. It was a stupid excuse, because youth definitely trumped age, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to be obedient to the unfair rules that grownups dreamed up. There was nothing fair about grownups. A big hindrance to a potientially free world.

Now there were no grownups and he wasn't going to be pushed around by someone younger than him no less. Ralph thought he was God, thought he knew the feel of blood…

How the thick red glistened in the thin beams of sunlight.

How the salty sick taste left a strange aftertaste in your mouth.

How it was slimy to the touch yet left him feeling rejuvenated!

He needed it!

Finally breaking into a clearing, Jack blinked as a flood of sunlight blinded him momentarily. There was something that moved, breathed, had _blood_ running through its veins in this clearing and for a moment, Jack swore to himself. His temporary blindness and sudden appearance were sure to startle and scare his prey, but lucky for him, this thing didn't run; it merely turned to face him.

He could already smell it.

No longer was he the victim here. No longer would it be that his blood would be spilled. No longer would stupid upperclassmen beat him for joining such a sissy thing as the choir, leaving him to nurse his bleeding and bruised self alone. No longer would he have to go home to a stupid father and a wimpy mother, who just hid her face in the corner as said drunk father would talk with his fists and less with his mouth. No longer would he be brought in the station and given a light yet brutal corporal punishment for minor misdemeanors in the sleepy town. No longer scolded and given up as a shameful example in church. No more. Now he was going to draw something he hated to see.

Hated to see, but couldn't live without seeing it.

Something blinded him for a moment as he stepped forward, spear already dancing in the air. All he could see was a dark figure, just in front of him. The absence of fear and sound were daunting, but all the more an easy catch. Then a face swimming in his eyes, suddenly the blood lust disappeared.

The mask cracked.

"_Stop it. Don't you see he's hurt to begin with?"_

"_Oh look, the freak talks!" _

It crumbled in a mess of reds and whites and greens and browns.

"_Maybe…" The low hesitant voice seemed to waver in the air that it wasn't used to being in. "Maybe…you could stay with me until your dad falls asleep."_

The pieces hit the floor and so did his defenses.

_After he was discharged every time from the hated station, all his lackeys and underlings had already fled in fear, but one stood outside timidly, although not tied there by law or mandatory obligation, but merely the desire to be there for someone else._

Simon sat before him, blinking innocently as if he didn't know what would happen if the spear had fallen its intended course. It wavered in the air before collapsing a few feet away as Jack was flooded with the magnification of what he could have done.

Pigs were one thing.

People were another.

He prided himself in being strong, but he couldn't help how his knees gave way beneath him and he collapsed too fast for his hands to catch him, but another pair did the work for him. His knees and shins absorbed the sudden shock, rendering him helpless for a second, as a small pair of arms pulled him close. His eyes were dry, as they had been for years now, his tear ducts probably rusted from lack of use. He was compensated, however, as he felt the body beneath him quiver softly and felt wet drops on his shoulder.

Simon was one who watched passively but emotion leapt to the surface.

"Jack, what's happened to you?" The voice was not more than a whisper but was as loud as a shout. The arms around him tightened protectively, as if someone that small could protect someone that big. It was a pitiful effort.

But it was nice to be able to lean on someone for a second.

His lust for blood wouldn't be instantly erased away. Simon just wouldn't become an extrovert all of a sudden. Neither of them would pay much attention to each other in an hour or so.

But just for a minute.

They could just be.

End

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Note: Not really a JackSimon, but I'm sure some people could interpret it as such. And now, see? Jack's not crazy by nature, it's his haunted past! He was a poor, abused child! So don't be so quick to blame him for being abusive and violent. He was raised that way. Blame society, not the messenger. And Three Days Grace is a total Lord of the Flies band. Listen to them. Review!!


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